


No Distance Too Far

by alex_wh0



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Public Hand Jobs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0
Summary: Neil goes incommunicado, Andrew worries, Matt is just annoyed. Set right at the beginning of Neil's pro career, a story of communication breakdown and semi-public smut
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 18
Kudos: 179





	No Distance Too Far

Matthew Boyd was a patient man unless you cut into his free time, _especially_ after a strenuous bout of training. He set down his dinner, paused the video he was watching and yanked open the door, fully prepared to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind – and froze.

“Minyard,” he said, surprise apparent in his voice.

“Boyd,” came the brusque response.

Matt stepped aside, gesturing for his somewhat acquaintance and former teammate to come in.

“Neil’s not here,” he offered cautiously, and Andrew spun around, eyebrows drawn together.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t see why I must tell you that,” Matt said, crossing his arms over his chest, and Andrew frowned more.

“Boyd-”

“No. Don’t ‘Boyd’ me. I don’t what’s going on between the two of you but he’s been pretty cut up this week.” He saw something like worry flash across Andrew’s features, but pushed on, “If you’re here to fight with him, I’ll have to stop you right there.”

Andrew flicked him a cool look. “Stay out of it, Boyd.”

“Or what? I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore,” he scowled, fully expecting Andrew to lash out, but to his surprise, he slumped, shoulders sagging with an unspoken burden. “Andrew?” he said, quieter now, gesturing him to take the couch.

Andrew sat down and rubbed his hand over his eyes, which Matt now noticed were ringed with dark circles. “I don’t know what’s going on between us either,” he said on an exhale, “Josten hasn’t spoken to me in a week.” Matt frowned, and Andrew tilted his head to look at him. “What’s going on?” he bit out, sounding uncertain, tired and _very_ unlike himself.

Matt relented a little. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t think he’s been adjusting well. And I think he was out training almost every day last week, which, in hindsight, seems unnecessary.”

“Exy is unnecessary,” Andrew grumbled and Matt laughed, a little relieved. This sounded closer to the Andrew he knew.

“Do you want to wait here while Neil comes back,” he asked, noticing Andrew scowling at his boots.

“No, tell me where he is.”

*

Which is how Andrew Minyard found himself standing at the entrance of a sports pub in the middle of New York city on a summer night, scowl intact.

“A sports bar. What a fucking cliché,” he muttered to himself before pushing his way in. It was loud, it was crowded and lit up with garish lights and Andrew’s annoyance peaked. He elbowed a couple of people near the bar and ordered a whiskey, turning around to scan the room.

A minute later, he found him -- red hair looking like damnation, mouth quirked up to the side in a smirk, head tilted down, sitting next to a woman that Andrew recognised from the games he had watched. Something hot and angry pulsed through his chest, and he had to look away. He had spent every minute of the past week worrying that something had happened to upset Neil and that he wasn’t okay, only to find the object of his thoughts smirking at a woman in a predictably boring bar.

Some part of him was relieved that Neil seemed well enough to be enjoying himself but the insecure side of his mind immediately slammed the thought shut. Andrew replayed the three months that had passed since Neil moved in with Matt, picking their conversations apart to look for clues that he might have missed, willing himself to not overanalyse.

He pulled out his phone, thumb automatically opening the messaging app, traitorously pulling up Neil’s contact.

**Neil** , _Oct 4_ : When do you get off practice?

 **Andrew** , _Oct 4_ : In an hour.

**Andrew** , _Oct_ 4: Neil?

 **Neil** , _Oct_ 5: Yeah?

 **Andrew** , _Oct_ 5: You didn’t pick up my calls

**Neil** , _Oct_ 6: Yeah

 **Andrew** , _Oct_ 6: What’s going on?

 **Neil** , _Oct_ 6: I’m fine

 **Andrew** , _Oct_ 6: That doesn’t answer my question.

**Andrew** , _Oct_ 7: Neil

 **Andrew** , _Oct_ 7: Pick up the call

**Neil** , _Oct_ 8: Sorry. I was busy

 **Andrew** , _Oct_ 8: Okay

 **Neil** , _Oct_ 8: I’ll call you later

**Andrew** , _Oct_ 9: Okay

**Andrew** , _Oct_ 10: Neil?

He felt it like a punch to his gut – the stilted responses, the avoidance of calls – and some ugly part of his mind repeated the texts over and over in his head, an infinite jagged loop that flayed him open on the inside. Andrew suddenly felt stupid, and thoroughly invasive as he sat at the bar, nursing his drink. What if Neil didn’t want to see him? What if he ignored him? What if he made Neil feel uncomfortable?

_What if? What if? What if?_

He crossly pushed aside his drink and stood up to leave when he heard Neil’s voice right behind him.

“Two more rounds of shots pl- Andrew?”

Andrew noticed the shocked upturn of the statement, and the million unspoken questions it contained. He cleared his throat, “I was leaving.”

He saw disbelief flit across Neil’s face. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Clearly a lapse of judgement brought me here,” Andrew said, manoeuvering himself around Neil, making to walk past him but Neil flung his arm out, inches away from his body, stopping him in his tracks effectively. Neil Josten always managed to stop Andrew in his tracks, and he _hated_ it. Hated how it made him feel uncertain, elated, raw and open.

Neil tilted his head at him with a “yes or no?” and Andrew found himself saying yes. Neil slipped his hand into his and pulled him away from the crowd. 

*

“What are you doing here?”

It wasn’t a _why_ but a _what_ , Andrew thought to himself, trying to shove down the hope that reared its head somewhere in his gut. Neil sat next to him on the kerb outside the back entrance, their knees touching.

Andrew didn’t have an answer, only a vague sense of dread and a bundle of insecurities that he now wished he hadn’t listened to.

Andrew had an answer; he didn’t how to say it out loud. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, hoping to find courage in the place of smoke. “I was worried,” he rasped out, startling slightly when Neil slipped his hand into his for the second time that night.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Andrew let out a breath and watched as Neil got up and paced, frustrated.

“I don’t want to keep you from whoever you are with,” he said a minute later, around a mouthful of smoke, going for apathetic and missing by miles. Neil abruptly stopped and sat right in front on Andrew.

“Andrew. Andrew, look at me,” he whispered, fingers tilting his chin up to meet his eyes, and Andrew did. “I panicked, okay? I didn’t know what to say, what to do, everything felt weird and different for some reason, and I didn’t know how to reach out to you,” Neil murmured into the space between them, and Andrew desperately, illogically, irreversibly wanted to believe him.

“You don’t know the number of times I wanted to say something, anything but it felt too little. I had been rooted to a place for the past five years, and this change felt unpleasant,” he said, fingers worrying the hem of his shirt, and then, “I don’t think I like change,” his voice broke on a sob, and Andrew broke too; he fell, and fell, and fell.

“Shut up, junkie.” And at Neil’s widened blue eyes looking at him, he continued, “I didn’t come here to ask you for an explanation.” He steeled himself, shoulders tensing, “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” Neil’s breath hitched at the admission – a secret given up willingly.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Andrew said, voice steady.

Neil surged forward to kiss him, lips chapped, soft and yielding. Andrew dragged him onto his lap, held the back of his neck and returned the kiss, insistent and urgent.

“I fucking hate you, Josten.” Neil laughed wetly.

_A kiss to the cheek._

“I want to blow you, yes or no?”

_Another kiss._

“Andrew we’re in public.”

_A nip to the earlobe._

“So?”

_A suck to the collarbone._

“Shut up.”

_A slow lick along the neck. A shiver._

“Is it a no?”

_A kiss to the clavicle._

“It’s a ‘not here’.”

_Shirt collar pushed aside, a nip on warm skin._

“How about in that alley?”

_A bite to a plush lower lip._

“Andrew, don’t be ridiculous,” Neil broke off on a moan.

Andrew sucked on his tongue, fingers tightening on Neil’s hips and stood up, pulling him along. When they reached the back door of the club, Andrew crowded Neil against the wall, the unlit stretch partially obscured from the road, and kissed him again.

“You are the most annoying person I know, Josten,” he snapped, and tucked his head in Neil’s neck, twining his arms around his waist, and Neil chuckled, hands gripping Andrew’s shoulders.

“Yes or no?” he mumbled into Neil’s neck, sucking first before biting down and soothing the spot with a swipe of his tongue, and felt Neil shiver.

“Yes,” Neil began, moaning when Andrew cupped him through his jeans. Andrew dragged the heel of his palm over Neil’s crotch, swallowing the noises he made, and unzipped his pants. Neil gasped as Andrew’s hand reached into his boxers, head thumping against the brick wall, voice breaking on a keening gasp as Andrew’s grip tightened.

Everything felt too much in that moment – relief, heat, the pulsing waves of pleasure, the knowledge that they were okay, that they were going to be okay. Minutes later, Neil came with a gasp as Andrew deftly twisted his wrist on a downward stroke. He took his hand out, grimacing at both the stickiness and Neil’s open, vulnerable expression. Before Neil could say anything, Andrew put a finger into his mouth and sucked it clean, watching his blue eyes go wider than usual. He pushed his middle finger in next, pulled it off with an obscene pop and watched Neil shudder.

“Fuck I just came.”

“Mm did you now?”

_Another suck, another lick, another pop._

“Andrew I swear I will come again,” Neil closed his eyes.

“Can’t hear you,” Andrew deadpanned and brought his thumb to Neil’s lips. “Suck.”

Neil sucked.

*

Matthew Boyd was a very patient man. Unless you cut into his free time, _especially_ if it was twice in the same evening. He stared at his phone.

 **Neil** , _Oct 12_ : Matt, make yourself scarce.

He huffed, annoyed. It was going to be a long night.

He made himself scarce.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah man idk what this is, the quarantine is making me go mad. Hope y'all are safe and are taking care of yourselves <3 Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://alex-wh0.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alex_wh0).


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